


The God In the Woods

by roryheadmav



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Tomki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 15:53:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/688733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roryheadmav/pseuds/roryheadmav
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little boy gets lost in the woods and encounters an imprisoned god.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The God In the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of three birthday stories that I sent to Tom Hiddleston last month. Yup, I sent them early so that it would arrive at Hamilton Hodell early. The other two are way too personal so I’d rather not post them here.
> 
> Anyway, this particular story came about because of a comment Tom made in an old interview about his getting “lost in the woods” when he was 8 years old. I really laughed when he said that he had a “diaphragmatic attack” from all that crying, although in retrospect it may not have been funny back then. Here, Tom’s little child-self meets a certain God of Mischief. Again, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TOM!
> 
> PS This is definitely the only story that you’ll read from me that’s rated G. I’m way too old to even consider indulging in romantic and torrid fantasies with handsome actors.

** THE GOD IN THE WOODS **

**Copyright January 18, 2013 By Rory**

_It can't be. It's impossible. I'm not lost…am I?_

 

An adorable little boy with unruly, curly blond locks stood frozen in the middle of a small clearing which was shrouded in shadow by the towering trees around him. The canopy of leaves and branches above his head was so thick that it prevented sunlight from piercing through. Already a thickening mist was starting to cover the forest floor, wisps of vapor—like long, graceful fingers—teasing the laces of his rubber shoes.

 

He swallowed down a sob, clutching the rugby ball he held in his hands like a security blanket. His face contorted in a grimace as his fingers pressed hard into the ball's rubber surface. It was actually because of this damned ball that he got lost in the first place.

 

He and his yearmates in school were on a camping trip in the woods. When they arrived at the camp site, an impromptu rugby match was called by the teachers to burn off the restless energies in their young charges. Unfortunately, that damned prick Ethan Meyerson—ever looking for an opportunity to show off—decided to kick the ball rather than pass it to his teammate. The ball went wide, sailing through the air and missing the makeshift goal entirely before disappearing into the trees. Since he was then waiting for his turn to hit the pitch and was warming the bench like a fidgety chicken about to lay eggs, he immediately volunteered to look for it. Finding the ball was easy; it somehow got wedged in a large rock with strange runes carved into its face. But when he turned around, he was shocked to discover that what should be an open field behind him was now a sentinel of dark, imposing trees.

 

"I will not cry, I will not cry," he murmured to himself over and over again, sniffling. "Daddy always said big men don't cry." To ease his nervousness, he even mimicked his father's proud, stern voice perfectly.

_But…I'm just a little kid, damn it! I'll cry as much as I want!_

 

That single, resentful thought was enough to launch him into a full bellowed wail for his teacher, his sisters, his Mommy, and his Nanny. For a couple of minutes, he cried and hiccupped his heart out until he thought his tummy would burst from the effort. But the only thing that returned to him was the echo of his voice, which sounded muted and downright creepy as it rebounded from the mist that surrounded him.

 

Suddenly, a strong wind blasted him from behind, causing his hair and clothes to flutter. That brisk wind was accompanied by a loud, malevolent hiss which brought his wailing to an abrupt halt. He whirled around, trying desperately to peer through the thick mist, but he could not make anything out. Just to be certain, he jumped on top of a large rock. That hiss could only come from a snake—without a doubt, a large one—and he certainly was not about to get bitten or, worse, crushed to death by one.

 

Because of his higher position, his eyes fell upon the dark cave just a few feet away from him. While common sense dictated that he should not enter any holes in the earth which may house a wolf, bear or, yes, maybe even a constricting python, there was a greater need to find shelter, at least, until the mist faded away.

 

Jumping down from the rock, he cautiously made his way toward the cave. Ever the polite one, he even called out "Hello", but only his word returned to him as a resounding echo. When no wild animals burst out with a ravenous desire to eat him, he readily assumed that the cave was safe enough for him to stay in, and he went inside. Because it was dark, he did not see the drop in the cave floor. Before he knew what was happening, he was sliding down a narrow, slippery tunnel, his arms and legs scraping against the walls and his tiny butt hitting a few rocks along the way. His descent seemed like it took forever when it was just a matter of seconds. He soon found himself tumbling into a much larger cavern, lit by glowing green crystals embedded in the walls. He was about to sit up, but the rugby ball, which he had earlier dropped when he fell, hit his head with a thump.

 

"I think this stupid ball hates me," he groaned, rubbing his aching head.

 

But then, the boy heard a soft moan. As he lifted his eyes, he was shocked to find a man, dressed in nothing more than a tattered loincloth, tied on top of a boulder with what looked like dried intestines. His eyes were severely burned. But even greater was the child's horror to find the man's lips sewn shut.

 

The boy rushed to the man and struggled to yank the icky entrails loose. "Are you hurting, sir? Please hang on. I'll try to get you free."

 

"And what do you think you're doing, little human?"

 

That deep, hissing voice chilled his blood. Slowly, he turned around to behold a gigantic serpent hanging from the stalactite just above his head. The snake glared at the boy through malevolent slitted pupils.

 

Swallowing down his fear, the boy declared with righteous indignation, "I'm setting him free. What does it look like I'm doing?"

 

"And have you get rid of my one sole amusement for these past centuries, I think not," the snake replied, its forked tongue swiping at a pudgy cheek, which the boy evaded. "I already devoured his wife, who has proved useless in her appointed task. It's been a long time since I've eaten a human. I am sure your flesh will be most succulent."

 

"You'll probably choke on me but you're welcome to give it a try," the boy taunted, at the same time wondering where on earth he dredged up the bravado to challenge such a huge serpent.

 

He did not have time to ponder this when the snake suddenly lunged at him. All courage deserted him then. With a terrified squeak, he dashed to the other side of the cavern and made a quick sidestep in the hopes that the snake will collide with the stone wall. The reptile, however, knew its lair all too well, swiftly turning in persistent pursuit. For a few breathtaking minutes, they just ran and slithered around and around the cavern.

 

At one point, his eyes focused on the man on the rock. Was it just his imagination or was the bound man scowling at him impatiently?

 

That momentary distraction made the boy not notice the object that was jutting out from the ground. As he tripped on it, the thing was wrenched free. It was a tarnished helmet with long horns that curved backward. The boy picked up the helmet, only to find the snake bearing down on him. He quickly turned the helmet around so that the sharp horn tips faced forward. The serpent lunged once more. Closing his eyes, the boy leaped out of the way and at the same time brought the helmet down hard. He winced at the feel of those horns piercing flesh and cold blood splattering upon his face. The snake thrashed underneath him, but he refused to let go. When all movement finally ceased, he cracked an eye open, breathing out in relief at the sight of the helmet's two horns buried deep into the serpent's head. Venom was pouring out of its fangs and it horrified the boy to see that the poison burned the rocks where it trickled.

 

The acid in the venom gave him an idea. Picking up the small discarded bowl in the corner, he let some of the venom pour into its hollow. He carefully carried it over to the bound man and used the venom to eat away the entrails that were holding him.

 

"You're going to be okay now, sir," the boy reassured the man as he helped him up to a sitting position. Fumbling inside his belt bag, he pulled out a pair of safety scissors. He grimaced at the threads that crisscrossed the man's lips. "Let me cut them for you. I'll try to be careful."

 

Because of the scissors' blunt tip, however, the boy had difficulty in inserting it between the first two stitches at the corner of the man's mouth. The threads were tugged, drawing a pained hiss from the man, who dug his fingers into the boy's arms. The boy made soothing noises, as nervous sweat beaded his brow. When he at last cut the thread, he gently tugged it free. At once, blood blossomed from the punctures, so that he took out his handkerchief and carefully dabbed it away.

 

In the same careful, methodical manner, the boy cut the stitches one by one, making sure to wipe away the blood after removing the thread. He never realized that he was crying, his teardrops falling upon the wounds on the man's mouth. Neither did he notice that it was his tears that were causing the wounds to heal. The only thing that was inside the boy's mind was the distressing thought that this man had suffered from terrible tortures for a very, very long time.

 

Pity, however, gave way to startlement, for when the last stitch was finally removed, strong fingers wrapped around his neck and began squeezing painfully. As the boy stared at the man who was strangling him, he saw that his face was changing. His unkempt beard slowly receded into his chin. His long, dark scraggly hair became cleaner and lustrous. Even the wounds around his eyes began to heal until the skin was clear of burns and scabs. Mad green eyes glared back at him.

 

"There was a time in the past when I would have rewarded the one who would free me from this hellish prison," the man said, his voice hoarse from disuse. "But after waiting and suffering for so long, I thought the best reward that I would give to my long delayed savior would be his death."

 

Although the breath was being choked out of him, somehow, the boy managed to stretch out his arm, grabbing the first weapon on hand, namely the horned helmet. He raised it in both hands, the poisoned horns pointing straight at his deranged attacker.

 

Doing an excellent impression of Clint Eastwood, he muttered, "Go on. Make my day."

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

"For a diminutive Midgardian, I do admire your gall."

 

"You threatened to kill me, and after I saved your life. Naturally, I had to muster up every gall I could. Whatever gall is. Is that the same as the gall bladder?"

 

The boy and the man have finally emerged from the cave. The boy could not help feeling envious, seeing the regal attire the man had conjured up out of thin air. He was dressed in a green shirt with a gold torque curving along his chest; the shirt in turn was topped by a similarly green robe with gold embellishments. He wore tight green leggings and calf high black boots. Draped over his shoulders was a flowing green cloak.

 

With a touch of impatience, the man explained, "I meant that you have such nerve and courage to face the wrath of a god."

 

The boy's head lifted from the rugby ball he was fiddling with. "You're God?" he asked dubiously. "You're not exactly what I had in mind."

 

"I am not that deity you mortals worship. But I am **_a_** god."

 

"Really?"

 

"Yes, really. They call me the God of Chaos, the God of Mischief, the Trickster, or the God of Lies—"

 

"God of Lies? I guess that means I shouldn't believe anything you say then."

 

 The god's eyes narrowed at him, his displeasure at the child's lack of respect rolling off him in waves.

 

Remembering his manners, the boy bowed and stammered, "Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. I'm T—"

 

"I am not interested in learning the name of a lowly Midgardian runt like you." Ignoring the sullen pout on the boy's face, the god wagged his hand brusquely. "Now, give me back my helmet. It looks absolutely ridiculous on you."

 

The boy peered up at the oversized helmet that he had put on his head, and which was tilting backward from the weight of the horns. "Nope, I'm keeping it. I need some kind of weapon to protect myself in case you get it into your head that you want to kill me again."

 

The god exhaled in exasperation. From within his robe, he produced a small ornate knife, and handed it hilt first to him. "Here. I propose a swap. You can use this to slit my throat if I should attempt to harm you."

 

"This doesn't look very sharp," the boy remarked doubtfully as he took the knife, prodding the tip with his finger. "OWW!" he cried, feeling the blade's sting as a drop of blood was instantly drawn. The boy turned to the god, his eyes welling up with tears and his lower lip trembling, as he raised his bleeding finger. "It hurrrts!"

 

"Of course it hurts, you little idiot! Why did you even test the knife's point? And don't you dare cry! I don't want that horrendous wail of yours getting the attention of anyone or anything that may be lurking in these woods."

 

He then squatted down and took the sniffling boy's hand. The child watched, wide-eyed, as the god pointed his finger at the wound and sent bright green energy flowing into it. The skin began knitting itself, sealing the puncture. When the green glow dissipated, it took the blood along with it.

 

"Wow!" The boy moved his healed finger this way and that in marvel. "You really are a god and…HEY!"

 

Taking advantage of the child's momentary distraction, the Trickster had seized the helmet in the blink of an eye. As he donned it, the boy's brow wrinkled in a disgruntled frown. "Now you look like the devil."

 

The god snorted. "Hmph! You just resent the fact that this helmet looks great on me instead of on you. You're better off playing with that…" He waved at the rugby ball. "…That thing."

 

"This? It's a ball."

 

"It's not like any ball that I've ever seen. It's not even round."

 

"That's because it's a ball you use in a game called rugby," the boy explained patiently, but with undisguised enthusiasm. "The players form a scrum and the ball is thrown into it by the referee. Then the players try to seize control of the ball by catching, passing, or kicking it. You score points by either grounding the ball in the in-goal area or through conversion or penalty kicks through the goal." Ignoring the perplexed expression on the god's face, he continued dreamily, "When I grow up, I'm gonna be a rugby player and join the Scotland team."

 

"A skinny runt like you?" the god scoffed, which cause the wistful expression on the boy's face to turn into a scowl. "Maybe you should lower your expectations. If rugby is the type of game that I think it is which would involve being wrestled and tackled by big brawny bodies coming from all corners, you are likely to be squashed like a fly!"

****

**_PUNT!_ **

 

The Trickster stiffened as the rugby ball flew above his head, right between the curving horns of his helmet. The ball bounced off the tip of one horn and dropped to the ground just a few inches behind the god's feet.

 

"I SCORED!" the boy whooped in glee as he went to retrieve the ball, oblivious to the fact that the god's face had darkened at the affront and was giving him a most furious glare. "See! I told you I could make a good rugby player. Even if I'm skinny, I can squeeze my way through the scrum and run away with the ball."

 

"Speaking of running away," the Trickster began ominously, "you should think about doing just that. Because I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"

 

"Uh, oh!" The boy paused for a second or two, ball in hand, realizing what he had just done. He then whirled on his heels and ran, shrieking delightedly as he did so.

 

The god slapped his hand to his forehead. "Doesn't this child realize what kind of danger he's in being with me?" Not knowing what else to do, he swiftly gave chase, his green cloak fluttering behind him.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

"OOOH! BELLY BUTTON! Ehehehe!"

 

The god was panting for breath as he carried the boy in the crook of his left arm, the child's whole body dangling in front of him. His T-shirt was scrunched upward, so that his pale flat belly was exposed. The boy was grinning down at the tiny pit.

 

"Perhaps I should scour the lint from your navel with my knife then," the Trickster suggested, still peeved with having to go into a merry chase too soon after being imprisoned for so long. He was woefully out of shape.

 

The boy started wriggling at that suggestion, even flailed his legs when he saw a sharp knife point inching toward his navel. "No, thank you!"

 

"You are unbelievable," the god remarked, tucking his knife back inside his robe. "Have you no sense of caution in you? You first faced Skadi's vicious snake and then you run away inside a forest which you know nothing about. We're now more lost than when we started."

 

The boy stopped moving at once. "I'm sorry."

 

The god set him down on his feet, only to be surprised when the boy took his hand and started walking beside him. "And, I believe you are far too trusting."

 

"If you mean that I trust you, actually I sort of do. If you had wanted to kill me, you would've already done so earlier when we were walking outside the cave. Besides, I think you like my company."

 

"You are just so full of yourself, aren't you?"

 

The child gazed at the stern, but handsome face of the Trickster. "Don't you ever smile? I bet you'd look wonderful with a smile on your lips."

 

"I've been imprisoned here for so long," the god stated bluntly. "What is there for me to smile about?"

 

"Where are we anyway?"

 

"A pocket dimension. My…prison. I was supposed to be kept in that hellish cave enduring millennia of torture until the time of Ragnarok, the final battle between the gods." The Trickster glanced down at the boy. "You shouldn't have been able to enter my prison, much more free me. I…I find that quite perplexing."

 

"Lucky I came along then. That snake…he said that he ate your wife."

 

"Sigyn…" The god said the name with such great pain. "She was tasked to hold a bowl over my face, so that the venom of Skadi's serpent will not burn me. But the bowl can only hold so much venom, and she would eventually have to drain it of its contents. Whenever she did so, the venom dripped on my face and… With time, because of my screams of pain or perhaps my cursing of her, Sigyn set down the bowl one morning and said she would not do it anymore. The serpent crushed her within his coils and devoured her whole."

 

"I'm so sorry about your wife," the boy mumbled sincerely. "But what about your family? Didn't you have anyone come visit you?"

 

"It was my so-called 'family' who imprisoned me in the first place!" The Trickster loosened his hold when he heard the boy give a gasp at the painful squeezing of his hand. "I…I did so many…bad…things. I wish I could say I was sorry for them. Back then, I was feeling so envious, so angry, so betrayed. Especially with my brother. I loved my brother dearly. I still do. But even he refused to understand my pain."

 

"Maybe you just don't understand each other."

 

That perfectly innocent comment caught the god off-guard. "What do you mean?"

 

Instead of answering, the boy pointed to the copse of dead trees ahead of them. "I'm tired AND hungry. Can we sit down there for a while? Please?"

 

Nodding, the god bent down and picked up the boy, bringing him over to a pile of rocks and setting him down on a small boulder covered with moss. Before he could settle down himself on a rock opposite the child, the boy rummaged inside his belt bag and produced a couple of packs of crackers and chocolate bars. He handed one pack and candy to the god before finally relaxing.

 

"I have two sisters," the boy continued while taking a big bite out of a cracker. "We sometimes get to arguing and fighting. Since I'm the only boy, I'm sorta expected to be patient with them 'coz they're girls and, as my Daddy would say, I should be the man of the house." He said the last doing a dead on impression of his father. "But, as you've noticed, I can't seem to shut up, so when I'm pissed off, I speak my mind. My sisters would start screeching and wailing on me." He spoke this in a high girly pitch together with emphatic hand gestures. "Then we don't talk for a bit. Afterwards, it's all okay again. Am I making sense?"

 

"A bit," the Trickster replied, munching thoughtfully on the chocolate, "although I can't understand why I'm listening to advice from a child. I must confess, it is rather entertaining watching you ape your family members. Maybe you should reconsider your choice of profession and become an actor instead."

 

"Hmph! What I'm trying to say is, maybe now is the time for you to really talk to your family, especially your brother. I don't know. I just refuse to believe that they don't care about you, that you can't receive forgiveness from them. It all seems unfair to me." The boy stopped, noticing the pallor on the god's face. "Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

 

In truth, the god was staring at the thing _behind_ the boy, and it certainly was no mere wraith. While the child was speaking, what he originally thought was a boulder was actually the top of an enormous head, from which protruded formidable antlers which they had mistaken for dead trees. Two blood red eyes opened and were staring cross-eyed at the boy sitting on its snout.

 

"BILGESNIPE!" he cried out in warning as he lunged for the child.

 

As they tumbled onto the ground, the bilgesnipe literally blasted out of its hiding place, sending clods of earth falling down upon them. It let out a mighty roar, which prompted the Trickster to tighten his embrace around the boy.

 

"Hang on to me," he said in growing panic. "I'll see if I can teleport us out of here."

 

As the boy held on and squeezed his eyes shut tightly, he felt the sudden whoosh of wind, only to find themselves falling down again. When he opened his eyes, he saw that they had moved but a few meters away from the monster.

 

"Curses!" the god hissed. "There's a barrier around this dimension! I can't get us out!"

 

"RUN!" the boy shouted, seeing the bilgesnipe charging toward them.

 

There was really no other option left for them but to flee on foot. With the boy in his arms, the Trickster ran through the trees and leaped over rocks and boulders, hoping that any obstacle may deter the monster that was chasing them. But the bilgesnipe was relentless in its pursuit, trampling everything in its wake just to be able to catch its prey.

 

All too soon, there was nowhere else for them to run as they found their path suddenly blocked by a high rock wall. Its sheer face made it impossible to climb. Seeing the bilgesnipe practically upon them, the god hastily erected a barrier, the monster colliding with the shimmering green wall with bone-crunching force.

 

Through gritted teeth, he called out to the terrified boy who was cringing at his feet. "You must throw your ball right between its eyes! That's the bilgesnipe's weak spot!"

 

"But I can't do it! I'm not that accurate! I'll miss! Even if I do hit it, this ball is made out of rubber! It'll bounce right off!"

 

"JUST DO IT!" he shouted, feeling the bilgesnipe's heavy bulk impact again and again against the barrier. "I CAN'T HOLD HIM BACK MUCH LONGER!"

 

Despite his apprehensions, the boy stood up, staring at the rugby ball in his hands. Throwing the ball would be the better option, but it would not have sufficient force behind it. Kicking it would be the best, but he was not confident about his aim.

 

"HURRY!" the god urged him, his arms aching every time the monster swiped the barrier with its huge claws.

 

Seeing that he had no other choice, the boy straightened up, measuring the distance between himself and that one weak spot. When the bilgesnipe paused briefly to try another assault on the barrier, the boy let the ball drop from his hands and gave it a powerful kick. The god saw the ball fly out of the corner of his eye, and he reached for it with his magic, enveloping it in a bright green aura. He guided the ball with his power, letting the barrier down for a second to let it pass through, and then sent it shooting straight through the bilgesnipe's brow. The monster let out one agonized roar before collapsing dead on the ground.

 

As the god let the barrier drop, the boy cautiously made his way to his side, clinging fearfully to his trousers. "Is it dead?"

 

"Yes, it's very much dead," the god confirmed, eyeing that still form. "You did a good job and…What are you doing?"

 

The boy had determinedly made his way to the carcass's head, pulling out the knife the Trickster had given him as he did so. He clambered up the bilgesnipe's snout and knelt before the gaping hole on its brow.

 

"I have to get the ball back. A rugby player never loses his ball," the boy replied, as he started tearing into the tough scales and flesh with the knife. Each rip and slice of flesh was punctuated by exclamations of "Eww!", "Ick!" or "Yuck!" The child was actually turning green from the effort not to puke.

 

"By Odin's beard! What am I to do with pint-sized Midgardians!" the Trickster exclaimed. With a defeated exhalation, he strode up the monster's body as well. "Here. Let me help you."

 

With the god's help, they were able to rip out most of the flesh, although their bodies were now covered in blood and gore. Engrossed as they were in what they were doing, they did not hear the distant rumble of thunder or notice the flash of lightning.

 

"I FOUND IT!" the boy cheered, lifting the ball from the ruined flesh of the bilgesnipe.

 

"Good! Then perhaps, now, we can find a way out of this miserable trap and…"

 

Whatever else the Trickster was going to say remained locked in his throat, as a formidable figure in black and gold armor with a flowing red cloak swooped down from the heavens. He wore a winged helmet on his head while, in his hand, he held a huge hammer.

 

"I always find you in some sort of mess, Brother," the God of Thunder told his younger sibling dryly.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

The two gods simply stared at each other for a long while, neither of them saying anything. Oblivious to the tension between the two men, the boy had plopped down on the ground and was cleaning up his rugby ball with a handkerchief.

 

It was the elder god who broke the silence between them. "I never expected to find you out of your prison so soon. Our father was alerted by a sudden disturbance in the barrier that surrounds this dimension. I went down to investigate and saw that the spelled rock with the runes of imprisonment has cracked."

 

"It must have been this child who broke the spell. This boy freed me, although I don't think he knows who I am," the Trickster answered. "If he had, I truly doubt if he would've done so. But then again, Skadi's serpent was contemplating devouring me, which was an affront to this child's sense of morality. The boy vanquished the serpent, and saved my life."

 

The Thunder God gazed thoughtfully down at the boy who, upon noticing the hammer sheathed at his hip, was curiously reaching up a hand to touch its smooth face. "He looks just like you when you were still a child. I wonder…"

 

"If you think that I created him, you should dismiss that notion from your head this instant. Remember that the Allfather not only bound my body, but my magic as well. No, this young Midgardian somehow blundered his way into my prison in pursuit of his toy, so now he is stranded here with me. That we look alike is purely coincidental."

 

The older god shook his head, an annoying habit he would succumb to when faced with a troublesome quandary. "Father—upon realizing that you had been freed—ordered me to bring you back to Asgard where you will be imprisoned in the palace dungeon. But I never expected to find a little boy with you."

 

Hearing the word 'dungeon' prompted the boy to hurriedly get to his feet. "You're locking him up **_again_**?" he declared indignantly. "Haven't you punished him enough? You didn't see the wounds on his face caused by that snake. I did, and they were terrible. I won't have you hurting him anymore!" He even placed his small frame before the younger god, as though his little body was already sufficient enough as protection.

 

The Thunder God only showed how inadequate his defense was when he reached out and took his brother's hand and clapped a manacle with a chain dangling from it on his wrist. He then took the other hand and did the same, ignoring the child's protests.

 

"Don't do this, please!" the boy begged him, tugging at the chains. "He's your brother! You can't do this to your own brother!"

 

"Instead of being concerned with my errant sibling, you should worry more about yourself," the elder god said sternly. "For freeing the God of Chaos, you must be punished as well. It is not yet the appointed time for his release. With what you've done, you may have condemned all the Nine Realms to his evil tricks. If I had not been informed of what happened, Odin only knows what mischief he could've gotten into."

 

"He is NOT evil!" the boy cried. "And why should I be punished for doing a good deed? How could doing good be so wrong? I don't understand!"

 

"Brother, I beg you. He is just a child!" the younger god argued with his sibling.

 

"I will not kill him, if that's what you're worried about. However, he shall stay imprisoned in this dimension for the rest of his life. I…I personally will see to it that there are no other creatures like that bilgesnipe that could harm him." The God of Thunder grabbed his brother's arm and began to lead him away. "Come. Your cell in the palace awaits you."

 

Seeing that the Thunder God was making good on his threat to abandon him, the boy burst into tears, heart-wrenching wails tearing at his throat. "Don't leave me here, please! I didn't do anything wrong! Please! Let me go back to my Daddy, Mommy and sisters! I'm begging you! Please! This is so unfair!"

 

The Trickster could not help looking back at the boy. The child had fallen to his knees, the dirty rugby ball lying on the ground in front of him. Tears were streaming down his cheeks as he rubbed his knuckles over his eyes. Jerking his arm out of his brother's grasp, he went back to the boy and wrapped his arms around him. The boy let out a gasp, feeling those warm, comforting arms. His own hands lifted and clung tightly to the younger god's neck as he sobbed miserably.

 

"This dimension would be sufficient enough as a prison for me as well," the Trickster stated firmly. "I will not leave this child, knowing that he is being punished for an act of kindness toward a villain."

 

The Thunder God looked at his brother curiously. "You have changed."

 

"No, I'm still the same brother you once knew. Inside me, I still harbor the desire to do mischief. But, with my numerous sins, you have become blind to the good that remains within me. I could change, if you will forgive me, not judge me, and love me as you had before. For once, let us talk and listen to each other." He ran a soothing hand over the boy's curly blond locks. "I owe it to this child to set things right."

 

"Does this mean that you will no longer conspire to bring about Ragnarok?"

 

"You cannot stop the destiny that the Norns had placed upon me. But if it is at all possible to mend the rift between us, perhaps it can be delayed."

 

The God of Thunder fell silent for a long while, pondering his brother's words. He knew the Trickster well enough to know when he was telling a rare truth. With a heavy resigned sigh, he said, "Very well. I shall open the doors to this dimension in order for the child to return to Midgard. But I will demand that you hold true to your oath."

 

"I will not give my oath to you, but to someone else, someone worthier of it."

 

The god then gently eased the boy out of his embrace in order to look him straight in the eyes. With the hem of his cloak, he wiped away the tears from his cheeks and the slick moisture from his nose.

 

"It is time for you to go home now." He nodded in the direction of the sparking red portal which his brother had opened with his hammer.

"You must come home with me," the boy urged him, tugging on the god's sleeve. "I wouldn't have minded staying trapped in another dimension, as long as you were with me. But, if you're going to be kept in a prison cell… I don't want to imagine what they'll do to you. Please, sir. You'll be welcome in my home. My Dad is pretty smart and my Mom is a great cook. You're going to love my sisters as well, even though they can be pushy at times. Please! I would very much like that you be my older brother. I've always wanted a brother."

 

"And I want so much to be your brother as well but, alas, it is just not possible. I have to pay for all the crimes that I have committed. But I promise you this." The god traced the runes of a spell of forgetting on the child's brow. As tears filled his eyes, he said, "For as long as you are still alive, I will not bring about Ragnarok. Be comforted in the fact that the end of days will not come during your lifetime."

 

The boy let out a choked sob as he threw his arms around the god. "And I promise I will make you proud of me, and that I will make you smile at all the good things that I will do."

 

The Trickster nodded, bestowing a tender kiss upon the child's brow. He then led the boy toward the portal where sunlight was pouring through. "Have a good life, little one," he whispered, as he pushed the boy through the doorway.

 

"I won't forget you," the boy called back.

 

"I'm so sorry, but you will," was the whisper that followed him.

 

One moment he was in the woods, the next he stumbled into bright sunlight. The boy grimaced momentarily at the glare, only to be brought back to the present by an impatient shout.

 

"There you are at last! Did you find the ball? What took you so long?"

 

"Here!" the boy answered as he threw the ball into the hands of his classmate.

 

For some strange reason, the boy found himself looking back at the forest behind him. Briefly, he thought he saw the slight flutter of a green cloak. Somehow, he felt a painful longing inside his heart. But as to the cause of his intense feelings, he could not remember. In the end, he shrugged it off and rejoined his friends.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Twenty-one years have passed since that fateful day he had thought himself lost in the woods. He was sitting inside his dressing room, waiting patiently as his assistant helped him dress in his costume. For some reason, he could not help feeling a sense of irony. While he had wanted to become a rugby player in his youth and, even played the sport in college, he found himself being drawn more and more toward the dramatic arts. And now, here he was—about to make that first critical step toward stardom. It felt like he was finally in the place where he was truly meant to be.

 

"I'm done," his assistant spoke up, breaking him out of his reverie. "Why don't you take a look in the mirror?"

 

He turned around then to gaze at his reflection, only to find a very familiar figure staring back at him.

 

"You should become an actor," that suggestion returned to him all of a sudden, and he found himself back in those dark, formidable woods fighting huge snakes and bilgesnipes with a handsome god by his side. A god who wore an impressive helmet with curving ram horns, just like the one he was wearing now. A god who looked exactly like him.

 

Feeling an exhilarating surge of confidence, he told his assistant "Let's go!", and the door of the trailer was opened for him.

 

As he strode onto the set, his castmates—who were all similarly clad in armor and other impressive costumes—clapped and cheered when they saw him.

 

Smiling, he murmured to himself, "It's time I keep my promise to you."

 

Months later, he was attending a grand premiere for the movie in a far off country, and he was amazed to say the least by the reactions of the fans and the press alike. He has read the initial reviews for the film, and he was pleased that his performance was well received. His co-star had even jokingly remarked to him that it seemed that his portrayal of the villain has touched a chord in the viewers' hearts and was now most likely on the way to being a character who was more loved than the hero.

 

Inside his heart, however, he wondered if he had done the god he had once called 'friend' a great justice by exploring the vulnerability of his emotions and his internal conflicts. He hoped he had not offended him, wherever he was.

 

He was standing backstage when his name was called for the final curtain call. Standing before the cheering audience, he bowed to them, arm in arm with his fellow thespians.

 

It was then that he saw him, standing at the third row. The god was dressed in the same lavish Armani suit he had worn in the film, a knitted green scarf draped over his neck. His heart skipped a beat, seeing the tears glimmering in the god's green eyes, more so the warm smile of gratitude that was on his lips.

 

"Bravo!" the Trickster mouthed to him proudly.

 

Through tear filled eyes, his simple but eloquent reply was to blow the god a kiss of gratitude. After all, he has earned the greatest reward of all. He had made the God of Lies smile.

 

 


End file.
